Page 135 of Lovers' Dance: Vol. 2

“I’ll be right back.” he repeated then the three of them hurried out the room.

Careful not to jar my shoulder, I slipped off the stool and muttered under my breath, “Jesus, Mary and Joseph.”

The things I got myself into. The whiskey bottle had been closed tight, it would take too much effort to open the darned thing with a bum arm. Sucking my teeth I minced towards the chair. Dante was going to kill me. How could I dance with a busted shoulder? Maybe I should head to A&E…urgh, I hated hospitals. The door swung open and I turned, surprised Matt had returned so fast. Dougie stood there, gripping the door handle and peering at me. He closed the door and strode over with a pale face as he watched me.

“Are ye badly hurt?” his accent was so thick I could barely understand him. “I heard someone say-” He stopped and ran a shaking hand through his hair.

“I’m fine,” I said. “Just a little accident. I blame Greg.”

Dougie’s eyes narrowed. “Greg? Greg who? Kinman? Moustache?”

I nodded. “Yeah, that’s him. He gave me the gun. It was a big gun, Dougie. I fired a shotgun.”

“And almost killed yerself doing so.” Dougie fumed. “I waited until Bradley and his friends left the room to come,” He rubbed his face. “Skulking around the corner like a wee thief.”

I laughed at the image. “Ow. My face hurts. Don’t make me laugh.”

“Let me see the shoulder.” Dougie demanded as he stepped closer.

“It’s fine, stop fussing.”

“And where was yon husband when all this took place? Letting ye handle a gun. Do ye even know how to handle a gun? I’m in half a mind to punch Kinman in the face. Ye’re only a wee thing. What were ye thinking?”

I sighed in exasperation. Not him too. Did no one see this wasn’t my fault? Ok, it was, but better to shift blame in this particular instance.

“Dougie, chill,” I pointed to the whiskey bottle. “And please open that for me.”

Dougie went to do as I asked, turning his nose up at the brand. Of course, he was a bit snobby when it came to whiskey. He poured some out in the glass I’d used, stared at the amber liquid for a second then tossed it back.

“Hey,” I groused, walking over. “Pour some for me.”

Dougie spun on his heels, hazel eyes intent on my face. “Hell, lassie. Ye really scared me. I thought,” He inhaled deeply and slowly shook his head.

I watched him pour another shot. He tossed this one back too.

“Dougie,” I called.

He slid the tumbler away and reached towards my face. “Yer cheek’s swollen.”

His accent was very pronounced once more as he stroked my cheek lightly. I instinctively jerked away, grimacing at the shooting pain in my shoulder from the abrupt movement. An unreadable look filled his eyes as the air got heavy between us. Why was he staring at me in that manner?

I cleared my throat, acutely uncomfortable and wanting the weirdness gone. “I’ve counted five so far.”

Dougie gave me a distracted smile as I stepped back.

“Three are working, not guests, so they don’t count,” he teased.

It was a game we played. Whenever I attended one of Matt’s functions or parties, I would count how many people of colour were there in addition to myself and text him the numbers. As I said, Dougie didn’t sweat these things and the outrageous texts he replied with always brightened my nights.

“They count.” I said with mock conviction, stepping back once more. He was closing the distance between us. “What’s wrong with you?” My voice sounded a lot sharper than I’d intended. Dougie’s unusual behaviour made me nervous.

“Let me see yer shoulder.” He gestured to the ice-pack pressed against my right shoulder.

“Ok, just stop creeping up on me. It’s weird. Have you been drinking loads?” I lowered the ice-pack.

Dougie winced, hissing at the deep purple bruise decorating the skin running from my clavicle to mid-arm. “That’s going to hurt bad tomorrow.”

“It hurts bad now.” I said with a dry laugh.

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